


Putting a Plan in Motion

by Raelynn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, F/M, Sherlock has feelings, and doesn't know what to do with them, not The Final Problem compliant, pre-The Lying Detective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 07:31:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9311609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raelynn/pseuds/Raelynn
Summary: This is how I imagine Sherlock told Molly to meet him at the therapists office with an ambulance.





	

Molly used the key the young homeless man had given to her three days ago to let herself into Baker Street quietly. 

“‘Ere you go, Miss,” the boy had said, placing the small envelope in her hand. “Mister Holmes said to tell you to come to Baker Street on Thursday after work. But don’t tell anyone.”

Molly had looked down at the key, debating. She’d heard through the grapevine that Sherlock had locked himself into his flat, and no one but Billy Wiggins had been seen entering or leaving for weeks.

The last time she’d seen him, he’d come by John’s trying to get in to see him, and John had asked her to send him away, handing her a note to give him.

She hadn’t read it, and it had broken her heart to send him away. She’d at least taken Rosie out with her, so he could see his Goddaughter.

She made her way up the stairs reluctantly, unsure of what she would find out there. The ever presence of Billy Wiggins probably meant that Sherlock was using again, under the delusion that Billy’s skills would keep him toeing the line between “high enough to ignore his problems” and “dead”.

She took a deep breath before pushing open the door to the flat.

The first thing she noticed was that Sherlock’s “Case Wall” had become Sherlock’s “Case Flat”. Newspaper clippings, photographs and notes covered almost every surface. She saw mostly pictures of the same man, but there were others too. She stood, just inside the door, gazing around.

It didn’t take long for her nose to pick up the smells in the flat. The smell of burning things. The smells of chemicals she recognized immediately. The rumors were right - Sherlock was using, and he and Wiggins were apparently developing strains of whatever it was here in Baker Street.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to come in?” Sherlock’s voice filtered in from behind the half-closed kitchen doors.

“Sherlock Holmes you had better not have a meth lab going on in this building,” said Molly, putting her purse down on the settee and walking toward the kitchen door. 

She stopped, sliding doors just opened enough to bracket her slim frame, and gazed into the kitchen.

The entire kitchen table was filled with lab equipment. She could see four syringes just from where she was standing. Sherlock was sat in one of the chairs from the side table, legs splayed out in front of him, watching her.

She took stock of the Detective next.

At least a week’s worth of facial hair, wild and untrimmed. Not nearly as thin as she would have expected, but even from six feet away she could see the look in his eyes. High. Again. He watched her watching him, giving her a moment to process everything she was seeing.

“What the fuck, Sherlock,” she finally said, still standing in the doorway, self-preservation keeping her from setting foot into the kitchen. 

Sherlock shrugged. “Who cares? No one cares. I don’t care, John doesn’t care, Mrs. Hudson won’t even come up here, she doesn’t care.”

Molly closed her eyes and counted to ten.

“If you don’t care, and nobody cares, and you’re content to just sit in your flat and kill yourself, then why have I been summoned?” she finally said, meeting his eyes for the first time.

“For the record,” said Sherlock, ignoring her question, “I have timed my usage today perfectly. This is the least high I’ll be all day. And I shouldn’t start going into withdrawal for another…” he paused then, looking over at a small clock on the counter. “Forty-two minutes.”

“Oh, good.” said Molly, “An organized drug addict. Well done.”

“Are you going to come into the kitchen?” said Sherlock, continuing to ignore her comments. “Because if not, I’ll come out there, but this seems silly for us to stand on either sides of a door and have a conversation.”

Molly pursed her lips and stepped back into the sitting room, then turned and found her way to John’s chair, plopping down into it. “Why am I here, Sherlock,” she called. 

Sherlock came out, slowly making his way into his chair and dropping into it. Molly looked over at him. “New dressing gown?”

Sherlock shrugged.

“Oh, so you do realize this is actually a conversation and not you just talking at me.” said Molly. “Why. Am. I. Here?”

“Because I figured you were the only one who cared.” he said quietly, looking down and fiddling with the tie of his dressing gown.

“Well, I do care. I think lots of other people care, but you won’t let them. I’m told Mycroft has people watching your flat, hoping you’ll decide to emerge.”

Sherlock shrugged again. “He’s just nosy, fuck Mycroft.” He paused then, and made a face. “Well, no. Don’t fuck Mycroft.”

Molly sighed.

“Would it help if I told you I was doing this for a reason?” he said suddenly. 

“You always are,” said Molly, exasperated. “I’ve never met an addict who didn’t have excuses.”

Sherlock stood and started pacing the room. “I’ve got a case. Someone came to me with a case, and I think it’ll solve two problems at once. But this part is necessary.”

“I seem to recall the last time you thought getting high for a case was necessary ended up involving Mycroft getting you out of trouble.” said Molly.

Sherlock stopped at this and rolled his eyes. “You’ve seen the papers. One of Mycroft’s men were over excited and shot Magnusson.”

Molly gave him a look.

“Hey, that’s the official story, who am I to argue?” he said, grinning. “Nothing to do with me.”

Molly couldn’t help the small smile that danced on her lips. There was her Sherlock, buried under all the drugs.

“Anyway,” said Sherlock, throwing himself back into his chair. “I missed you.”

“I didn’t bring any body parts.”

“I didn’t say I missed you bringing me body parts, I said I missed you. And I meant it. You’re one of the few people who doesn’t either hate me or idolize me. You see me - all of me - and almost no one does. It means something to me, it really does.”

Molly was immediately uncomfortable with this sudden change in attitude. “Yes, well. Somewhere in you is a good man, you’re just determined to keep squashing him down. Maybe no one else can see that, but I can.”

There was a long silence, and then Sherlock looked up, reaching out a hand to Molly. “C’mere?”

Molly stood and walked over to him, using it as a chance to get a better look at him. He wasn’t lying when he said he was on the come-down from a high, his eyes looked far too alert. But she could see just by looking at him that he was taking more than he should be, beyond using for an addiction. He was, just like the rumors said, dancing dangerously close to an overdose.

She stood in front of him, looking down at him. “Yes?”

“I told you, once, that you mattered the most.” 

“Yes,” said Molly, “Because I helped you with your fake suicide.”

“No,” he said, reaching for her hands and taking them into his. “You matter to me in ways I couldn’t articulate. Ways I’m still not sure I can articulate. Ways that I won’t let myself feel.”

He stood then, still holding her hands. “I am fairly sure that I’ve taken things too far, and I’m not even at the end yet. I’ve squandered your feelings for me, I’ve wasted them, and now?”

He looked down at himself “This is not someone to love.”

“Oh, Sherlock,” whispered Molly.

“I pushed you away because I will ruin you, Molly Hooper. I have already taken advantage of your love, of your attentions, of your heart. And that’s not even close to what I’m capable of doing. I won’t mean to, and I will swear I’m not doing it, but I will break you. I will break you and ruin you and ruin your life. You are so nice, and beautiful, and you deserve so much more than me. I know you think I can be redeemed but ...I don’t believe that.”

Molly’s eyes filled up with tears. “Sherlock…”

He cut her off. “No. I won’t. I…” he stopped, letting go of one hand to wipe away a tear that hovered on her cheek preparing to fall. “I care too much to do that to you. Can you understand? Do you see what I’m telling you? I have ruined John Watson’s life and I cannot forgive myself for that. And I will not do it to you.”

With that, Sherlock reached out again, pulling her against him and enveloping her in a hug. Leaning down and pressing his face into her hair, he whispered, “I’m far too broken, Molly. I can’t be that. I’ve tried, and I thought with John I had a friend, and I could maybe find a way to be like other people. But I’m not, and I can’t be, and it...it breaks my heart.”

Molly pulled back enough to look up at him. “Do you really believe that?”

Sherlock nodded. “I don’t want to. I fought it for a long time. But there’s so many things going on in my head and I don’t think like other people and I’m not like other people. And it’s not just being different - lots of people are different and still find love. But everyone I’ve ever tried to love, I hurt. Friends, lovers, family. 

“I couldn’t bear it if I hurt you, too.”

With that, he bent down, his lips hovering just over hers. “May I? Just this once? Just so I know? So I have something to put in my Mind Palace and remember?”

Molly leaned forward, pressing her lips softly to his. They both froze, for a moment, savoring the connection, before they began to move their lips against each other, the kiss heating up. Molly felt Sherlock’s tongue pressing against her lips, and she opened for him, his tongue snaking it’s way into her mouth. 

The kiss seemed to last forever, before she finally broke it, placing her hands on his chest and pushing herself away from him. “I...that’s it. I can’t do more. I’m not like you. I can’t decide six months or a year from now that I don’t want these memories, and delete them. Whatever happens in this room is forever for me, and I can’t…”

Tears welled up in her eyes again, and Sherlock stepped to her once again, pulling her into his arms.

“I would have never deleted it, Molly Hooper.” he said, placing a kiss on the top of her hair.

They stayed that way for a long time, until Sherlock finally pulled away. “Okay. One more detail, and then it’ll be best if you leave. Before…”

Molly smiled a small, sad smile. “Yes. I don’t...I don’t want to see that.”

“And I don’t want you to. So. He turned, all business suddenly, pulling a piece of paper off of the wall behind him. “I need you to come to this address, at this date and time. With an ambulance.”

“An...ambulance?”

“Don’t worry, no one will be dead.”

He handed her the paper. She glanced at it, folded it, and slid it into her pocket.

“You’re killing yourself,” she said, turning to collect her purse. “And if you do, I will never forgive you.”

Sherlock didn’t answer her, just watched sadly as she turned, opened the door, and left Baker Street.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to end smutty, but it just didn't go there for me.


End file.
